Page 4 of Dangerous Promises

Anton searches my eyes and I see his go a little more lost when he understands my only answer to that question.

I wanthimto be alive again.

His hopeful hands drop to his sides as he steps away. I harden my shoulders and straighten my posture as I try to control the rage that always follow the hints of my grief. I feel the hurt and the pain about to swallow me. About to take me under to the point that I have no choice but to scream. So I shove it down. As deep as it will go. And I let rage flood the space that it holds.

I say nothing as I limp away to tend to my own wounds. Freddie grabs my arm to stop me as I pass him.

"Sage..."

His eyes beg me, too. To consider my own life. Theirs. Whatever it is they're fighting for. Either way, I am uninterested.

I don't need Freddie's or even my uncle's permission to do this. I never did. I never needed permission for any of the plans I put in motion, or the lives that I ruined by making wrong choices at every turn. By forgetting that our enemies are our enemies for a reason.

"I wish there was something I could-" Freddie starts to say until he sees the foul look I throw his way.

"Don't," I warn. "If you can't bring him back…" my heart beats harder and I anxiously lick at my lip, "…then there's nothing you can do."

Chapter

Two

Alexei

Ilight the cigarette until the flame burns my fingertips, taking a deep inhale that I feel all the way down into my bones as the smoke fills my lungs. My brother's old den is filled with stale air, lit only by the gaps between the curtains where sunlight pierces inside. I settle back into his green sofa, making myself comfortable as I watch the footage play on the screen.

Security camera footage from the other night when Sage ambushed me. There's a particular part of it that's my favorite. That I find I must watch on replay since discovering it. I'm standing on the sidewalk at night, talking to my men. Sage appears out of a nearby alley and tries to stab me, but I notice her at the last second. When I spin and grab her by the throat, her green eyes light up enough to be seen by this camera.

It's the part where her eyes go wide, and for a second before the terror comes, they look lustful. Curious but cautious. Unsure. With her mouth making that little round 'o' shape.

I shift forward on the couch, taking a long drag of my cigarette as the image of her burns into my retinas. I squeeze her throat harder and her eyes water as she gags. The whole thing brings a dark smile to my face.

I replay it several times over, inching closer to the screen each time I do. Just to see the look of disgust on her face.

I can't pretend she isn't beautiful.

Makes her pretty neck all the more a shame to cut.

But I can't wait for the moment I do. When my knife tears across her flesh and the life bleeds from her eyes. I hope she makes the same look that she's making as I watch her right now.

I clench my jaw as I imagine that moment, hatred pouring over me and sizzling me alive. I take another swig of the vodka and reduce myself to watching this footage for the rest of the day.

The door swings open, bringing with it an ungodly amount of sunlight. I hiss as I shield my eyes from the blinding light.

Isla steps into the room and suppresses a gag, surveying the mess until her disappointed eyes land on mine. She's had a busy morning. Her clothes are disheveled, droplets of blood coat her sleeves and wisps of hair escape her ponytail. A reflection that running my brother's empire has mostly fallen to her while I finish my task.

"Fucking hell. How long have you been in here?" Isla asks as she covers her mouth with her sleeve.

I take another long drag of my smoke and settle back into the cushions. "A day or so."

"It smells in here, Alexei," Isla says, shaking her head as she comes up to me and rips the cigarette out of my mouth to stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

I turn calculating eyes on her.

"God," she says, shivering when she sees the look on my face. "You never used to look that sinister before either." Isla pacesabout the room, picking up after me and cleaning around the spot I sit. "I'm worried about you, Alexei. I see more of Victor in your eyes every single day."

A surge of feeling, something I don't want to acknowledge, rises, and I clench my jaw, running my hand over my mouth and breathing to offset it. Hearing my brother's name out loud is nearly enough to tip me over the edge. So I force myself to repeat it. To not allow myself the weakness of being defeated by just the thought of his name.

Victor. Victor. Victor. Victor.